Wherever The Road May Lead
by oucellogal
Summary: Scotty and Lilly's thoughts following "The Road." Mostly angst, with a bit of humor, and some L/S, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Aqiran suggested that I write a post-"The Road" story. I was originally going to wait until after the season finale, to see if there were any further developments to inspire me, but Scotty invaded my head tonight, demanding that I write this, and…well…I just can't say no to Scotty.**

**Rating: T for language.**

**Disclaimer: As always, I don't own these characters. As always, I really wish I did.**

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**Wherever The Road May Lead**

I get home, rip off my tie, and fling it somewhere, not knowin' or carin' where it lands. It's been one of those days…one of those nights, really. Long day at work, as always, and then Boss gets a call that some jackass serial killer in West Virginia needs an escort back to Philly, and a confession along the way sure would be nice. Lil volunteered for it, of course. I kinda knew she would. I know she ain't been sleepin', not that she'd ever admit it in a million years, but I ain't blind. And, frankly, I'm a little worried about her. Well, okay, more than a little. Ever since she got shot, she's been…kinda…different, somehow. More fragile. Kinda like her skin's made outta eggshells. Sure, she acts all tough, like she always does, but I can tell, more now than ever before, that it's an act. And I knew, before she even asked me to come with her, that there was no way in hell I was lettin' her take that trip alone. In fact, I'm kinda glad she asked, 'cause I wasn't wantin' to force myself into that car, but I woulda done it, if that's what it took.

I cross to my bureau and grab the first bottle of booze I see. It's half full of scotch, but to be honest, I could care less what it is. I'm just thrilled I got any alcohol in the house at all. It's six A.M., and the sun's startin' to come up. Boss made us both take the day off, what with the crazy-ass night we had and all, and I should be collapsin' right about now, but I'm way too keyed up to go to sleep. I figure some booze'll take the edge off, and I kinda wanted to go to some dingy bar where nobody knows me, but of course, nobody's gonna be open at six A.M. Not even the hard-core alcoholic bars are open that early. So it's just me, my scotch, and my empty glass, sittin' at my kitchen table. I pour myself a shot, toss it down my throat, and repeat that a coupla times, then sit back with a sigh.

I should be kinda proud of myself, I figure. Me and Lil drove all the way to West Virginia, picked up John Q. Psychopath, and drove him back to Philly, confession in hand. Lil hightailed it back here before I did, and I heard she found Brenda still alive. I'm so happy for that; it ain't often we get a case with a happy ending, and…well…this one, more than any of the others…it needed a happy ending. _Lil _needed a happy ending. For once in her life, she got one, and…well…that feels damn good, knowin' I was a part of givin' her that.

As for John Smith…he's in jail right now, the bastard, where he'll sit for a few years until they mercifully decide to put the needle in his arm. I'm thinkin' I might wanna be there for that one. I don't usually show up for those things, but I might make an exception for this one. Just wish they'd get a little more cruel and unusual about it. Death…death's too good for a bastard like him.

I toss another shot down my throat. Just thinkin' about him is pissin' me off all over again. I knew right away we were dealin' with a special case, when he got all "Silence of the Lambs" on Lil and asked about her perfume. Lil never wears the stuff, I coulda told him that. Doesn't need to. She always just…smells nice.

Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? I'm talkin' about some sociopathic serial killer, and I got on some weird-ass tangent about Lil's perfume, or lack thereof. Must be downin' a little more scotch than I thought.

But it's still not enough, I realize. Not enough to make me forget that son of a bitch. I pour myself another shot and set the bottle down on the table with so much force that some of the scotch splashes out, but I don't care. I'm still pissed as hell at that guy. The nerve of him.

I mean, I'm used to perverts askin' if me and Lil have slept together. It's a common enough question, I guess, but just….the WAY this guy asked that…like it was somethin' dirty…somethin'…wrong somehow. Now, I ain't gonna lie and tell you I never thought about it. Lil's…well…she's beautiful. And I'm a guy. And I ain't gay. So, yeah. I've thought about it. Not dwellin' on it, like I would if I were actually…God forbid…interested in her. But I've thought about it. Thought about what it might be like to kiss her, thought about what it'd feel like to have those curves pressed up against me, thought about what it'd feel like to run my hands through her hair, looked at that gorgeous long neck of hers and wondered what sound she'd make if I kissed it, wondered just what she keeps under all that frosty professionalism. But, like I said…it ain't somethin' I let myself dwell on. Wouldn't want to. She ain't my type. Far from it.

She's too…standoffish. Independent. Like she don't need any help from anybody, thank you very much. She's the Ice Queen, and I respect that. It makes her a great cop. But me…I got a soft spot for women who need somebody to rescue 'em, I'll admit it. And, well…I like the rescuin'. Makes me feel like I've done right by 'em, like maybe I'm on this planet to do some actual good insteada just wastin' space. Prob'ly that's why I'm a cop, although I ain't never really given it much thought.

So where was I? Oh, yeah. Son of a bitch, piece of work John Smith. Makes me ill just thinkin' about him, the way he'd trap those girls in those tiny little dungeons and just slowly, gradually rob 'em of their will to live. Gets him off the hook, he thinks; he ain't pullin' the trigger, he's just makin' 'em see that they don't have anything to live for, and gets off on watchin' em give up and die alone. That's the most fucked-up thing I ever heard, and I'm a cop, for God's sake. I ain't supposed to get shocked by anything. I've seen the darkest, filthiest depths of humanity, and most of the time, it doesn't get to me, but guys like this…guys like John Smith and George Marks…they even rattle me. More than I'd like to admit.

George, I threatened. I told him when he had Lil holed up in those goddamn woods that if he hurt her, I'd murder him. And I would have, too. If she didn't come outta there in one piece, no tellin' what I woulda done. I let myself indulge in some pretty violent fantasies about George that night while I was standin' there waitin' for gunshots. I pictured just where I'd bury his head once I shot it off, or what I'd do with his heart after I ripped it out of his chest and showed it to him. I realize that there's actually a pretty fine line between cop and criminal. I think we're made out of a lotta the same stuff, truth be told. It's just…what are you gonna do with it?

I tried the criminal life. Well, not really. But my undercover days…I was Ramiro's driver. I'd pick up the girls from the airport and take 'em to the hotel where he got the cookies out of 'em. And…I kinda enjoyed it, if I'm bein' real honest. And booze…well…it's got a way of makin' a guy honest. It was fun, dammit, and I liked it more than I wanna admit. The danger…the rush. The fear of gettin' caught. It was like a drug in itself.

I shoulda been proud of that job…it was part of a major sting, and I shoulda been proud of bein' a part of bringin' that operation down. But…I couldn't. Not after Ana Castilla. She got into my head, and she needed rescuin'. Elisa, back then, wasn't lettin' me rescue her. I knew there was somethin' wrong, somethin' funny upstairs, but she insisted she was just stressed out 'cause I wouldn't nail down a wedding date. Of course, I ain't gonna want a wedding with somebody who's all of a sudden started hearin' voices without knowin' just what, exactly, I'm signin' up to spend the rest of my life dealin' with. And Ana seemed…easier. You wouldn't think a Colombian drug mule would be easier than your childhood sweetheart, but there you have it. Ana didn't want much; just enough money to get back to Colombia and be a secretary. She didn't have big, wild, unattainable dreams. She just wanted a shot at normal, a shot that all the rest of us get and take for granted. And…dammit. I wanted to make that dream of hers come true. So I gave her my goddamn number, and…well…

We know the rest of the story. She would up dead. I might as well have been the one with that knife cuttin' her open. And my undercover days are over. It's just as well. I don't need the temptation. I don't need any more opportunities to screw up.

And, of course, Elisa died, too. I couldn't rescue her, either, goddammit. Woulda given anything to be there, but I wasn't…and she jumped.

So…I've been keepin' women at a distance for a while now. They all end up disappearin' on me anyway, usually 'cause of somethin' I did, or, more often, didn't do. I can't have any more blood on my hands. I can't be responsible for any more epic failures. So I've been keepin' my heart out of it. There ain't even been that many recently; just Charlene in Nashville; at least, I think her name was Charlene. That sounds Southern enough, anyway. And of course, Alex. I don't know what the hell I was thinkin' with her. Prob'ly I was thinkin' that she was so the opposite of what I usually go for that there was no way in hell I could screw that up. And you know what? I didn't. She did. And, what's more, she didn't break my heart, 'cause I never gave it to her. It's better that way, really. Keep your heart out of it. It only leads to trouble. Besides, Alex didn't need me. She didn't need rescuin'. She was fine on her own.

Guess that's probably why that was pretty unfulfillin'. I can't help it. I need to be needed. I need somebody to look at me like I'm their fuckin' knight in shining armor. Guess it's just the way I'm wired. I ain't gonna dwell on it, though. I am what I am.

And once…one brief, shining moment a few months ago, Lil needed me. She needed…me. And only me. She coulda called anybody, but she called me, and she said hey, and right there, there wasn't a damn thing I wouldn't have done for her. I woulda taken that goddamn bullet myself. I wished I could have, thousands of times. I knew I could handle it. I ain't never been shot, but you don't know how hard I wished it woulda been me, slumped against that wall, bleedin' and barely conscious, instead of Lil. She sure didn't need that. Her mom died the day before, and I was worried about her already. She was kinda empty when I went to talk to her, like a shell, like somebody'd just hollowed her out and taken out all the stuff that made her Lil and replaced it with…just…Styrofoam fillin' or somethin'. I can't really describe it, but I know what that feels like. I've been there.

When Ed Marteson took her hostage…man alive, I woulda climbed up the side of the building by my fingertips if I'd had to. I ended up takin' the stairs two at a time, gun drawn, wonderin' where she was, and when they told me she was in the observation room, alone, unarmed, and with Ed…my blood ran cold. I was never so relieved as I was when she called me and said, "Hey." There was somethin' I could do, somethin' she needed me for. I had a chance to save her.

And, of course, I fucked it up, like I do with everything else in my goddamn miserable existence. Oh, sure, I took Ed out, but not before he shot Lil. If I'da just run a little faster, shot a little sooner, maybe she wouldn't have gotten shot at all. And seein' her now, like she's all hollow and empty, knowin' she ain't sleepin', knowin' she's got that scar on her shoulder for the rest of her life…I blame myself for it. I think I shoulda stopped it somehow.

I gotta be honest, Lil gettin' shot scared the absolute shit outta me. I ain't never been so scared in all my life, just lookin' at her, slumpin' towards the floor. I remember catchin' her, holdin' her in my arms, screamin' at Will to call the paramedics, cradlin' her to my chest, tryin' to stop the bleedin' with my hand, tryin' to keep those goddamn tears in my eyes where they belong and not leakin' out all over my face, pacin' the hallway in the hospital, realizin' I got her blood all over my tie…and all the while wonderin' what the hell I'd ever do without her. She's…basically the only thing in my life that hasn't changed. She's the only thing I can count on. She's just…Lil. And losin' her? I already went through losin' somebody once. Not that…losin' Lil woulda been the same as losin' Elisa. I was in love with Elisa. I wanted to marry her, at least…at one time, I did. We'd been together since were fourteen, so of course, it broke my heart and messed me up real good.

Now, me and Lil are different, of course. For starters, I ain't in love with her. But we got this bond…I don't know when it happened, or how, but it's like we're…connected, somehow. We know what each other's thinkin'. I know how to help her, she knows how to help me. Which is no small feat, considerin' that neither one of us likes acceptin' help of any size, shape, or description. But Lil…she gets me in a way that nobody else does. And I like to think, anyway, that I get her…at least, as well as anybody can. Which ain't that well at all, really. But we just understand each other. We're in each other's souls. And it terrified me to realize that, if Lil died…it woulda torn me up just as bad as Elisa did…for completely different reasons of course…but the pain woulda been just as bad. And it woulda been all my fault.

So tonight, when John started askin' Lil all those questions, and I just had to sit there and watch her suffer…well…it was more than I could take. It was the last straw. She'd suffered enough, goddammit. I don't know what got into me; one minute I'm drivin', and the next minute, John's sayin' Lil's got experience with not lookin' for a way out or somethin' like that; hell, I don't even remember what he said. Next thing I know, I'm whippin' the car off the road and pullin' him out, throwin' him to the ground, and just kickin' the shit out of him. I'm seein' red, my blood's boilin', and I'm so livid I don't even feel like I'm in control of my own body anymore, just kickin' and kickin' and hopin' to God I kill him then and there, or at least knock him unconscious so he can't spew out any more of his bullshit, and maybe Lil won't get hurt anymore on my watch. I've done her enough damage.

I was pretty damn surprised when I felt somebody pullin' me offa John, 'cause the only other one there was Lil. I didn't know she was that strong. But there she was, grabbin' my arm and tellin' me to stop, and I was so shocked that I had no choice but to do just that. That bastard was just laughin' at me, like it didn't even hurt, and that's when I know the man's got no soul, 'cause I know how hard I was kickin' him. My foot still hurts, for God's sake, so there's no way in hell it didn't hurt him, but he didn't give me the satisfaction. Fuckin' tool.

So I drove him back to Philly, threw him in the slammer, and now I'm here, wonderin' what the hell got into me. Why the hell seein' Lil suffer pissed me off so much I actually woulda killed the guy if Lil hadn't stopped me.

God. Lil… she's just so…amazin'. Intimidatin'. Enigmatic. The woman's one big mystery wrapped up in a beautiful blonde package. I know she's been hurt so many times in her life, and I'd give anything to be able to make those hurts go away, to make her realize that she's worth more than she's let herself have, to make her realize that somebody out there could love her more than life itself, could wanna spend the rest of his days makin' her smile, makin' her laugh, holdin' her up when she just can't stand up anymore, makin' her forget about all the shit that's happened to her, makin' her so damn happy she can't see straight. Lovin' her….like she deserves to be loved.

I think about that, I think about the kinda guy I'd like to see Lil with. Somebody strong, that's for damn sure. Somebody smart, who knows her inside and out, who knows when to call her on her bullshit and knows when she needs some space. Somebody who can understand her crazy dedication to this goddamn job, somebody who can understand her obsessive need to take all the scumbags off the streets and put 'em in the slammer where they belong. Somebody who can get behind those six-foot thick walls she's got built up around herself, somebody who she might actually let her guard down around, just for a minute.

The more I think about it, the more I think there ain't a guy in this world that fits that description, and that's a fuckin' shame, because she, more than anybody, deserves to be loved. Truly and completely, just 'cause she's Lil.

She ain't had that many guys in her life since I've known her…Kite was all wrong for her, I knew that from the moment I met him. Ivy League jerk just didn't get her. Course, neither did I, not back then, but Kite didn't have a fuckin' clue. And Ray…that dude on the Harley. I don't know who the hell he thought he was after, but he didn't know Lil like I do. Sure, they grew up together, but he took off, what, like, ten years ago or whatever. So he doesn't know her now. I think he still wants her to be that crazy nineteen year old who almost married him, for some reason I can't even begin to fathom. The dirtbag. And I didn't like Joseph much, either, but I figured that's 'cause of how she fell for him when she thought he was dead, and how she almost flushed her career down the can over him. He wasn't a bad guy, but he wasn't the right guy for her. Not by a long shot.

And all of a sudden, I realize that it doesn't bother me near as much as it should that I don't think there's a guy in this world who's right for her. In fact…what the hell? I'm burnin' with what feels dangerously close to jealousy at the thought of any other guy even touchin' her. It occurs to me then that…that I don't wanna picture her with anyone else, _can't _picture her with anyone else…

…because all this time, I've been picturin' her with…with…

Oh, shit. No. No, no, no_, no, no_. No fuckin' way. Oh, _hell_, no. No. No. Absolutely not. Shit, no. No. Please, for the love of God…no.

God_dammit._

My heart's beatin' a mile a minute, and I'm even more lightheaded than I was before. I fling my empty scotch glass against the wall, and it shatters into a million pieces, but I don't give a rat's ass about that. All I'm thinkin' about is how to wrap my mind around what I just realized, how in the _hell _I managed…

…to fall for Lilly Rush.

Oh, I can deny it all I want, but I've been in love before, and I know the signs. I know what it feels like. And I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that somehow, some way, I've…goddammit…fallen in love…with Lil. I can feel the truth in my bones.

How the hell did that happen? _When _the hell did that happen? And how can I be so dumb to not have known it until now?

And, more importantly…what the hell do I do about it? We're partners. We're friends. I slept with her _sister_, for God's sake. And I know she'll probably never think of me as anything more than a friend and partner.

I get up and sigh and then just start chuggin' scotch straight from the bottle. My day, my night, just got a whole lot worse. I chug more than I should, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and stumble towards the bed before the room starts spinnin' and I pass out on the floor.

I'll deal with this tomorrow. I'm sure I'm just drunk and delusional, and when I wake up, I'm gonna realize that this is all just some crazy-ass dream.

At least, I sure hope it is. 'Cause I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do if it ain't.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Dang it. This WAS going to be a one-shot. But, thanks to Lil invading my head, it no longer is.**

**Disclaimer: Still not my characters, although I'm realizing I have far more in common with Lilly than I ever thought possible.**

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I get home, sigh, toss my keys on the table, and head straight for the sofa, where Olivia's waiting for me, looking up at me like she's wondering where I've been all night. I've been in West Virginia, that's where. Scotty and I went there to pick up a serial killer, and got a confession on the way back.

Dammit, I can't believe Boss is making me take the day off. I'm here, at home, which is the last place I want to be, the last place I need to be. I'm fine. I wanna go back into work and finish up that John Smith paperwork and rejoice in the fact that we did it; we got that bastard off the streets, and, more importantly…we saved Brenda. No, I take that back. _We_ didn't save Brenda. She saved herself. She drew on that inner strength of hers, that strength I have.

That strength that's…taken a bit of a hit recently.

Dammit.

I sink down on the sofa and scratch Olivia's ears, but, really, I just want to go back to work. I don't want to be here. At work, I can keep busy. Keep my mind occupied. Keep myself from thinking about my crappy life and concentrate instead on someone else's. At work, my problems don't bother me. I'm still in control, on top of my game. Home…home is a different story. At home, all those things I try to keep buried surface, like a wave, and they try to drag me out to sea with them. And lately…it's been harder and harder to fight that.

Boss says we needed to take the day off, we needed to get some rest, but resting is the last thing I'm gonna be able to do. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks, and I don't expect that to change anytime soon. Not after the day, the night, I had.

I toss and turn even on the best of nights, and a lot of the time, I just give up and work on the case, read, or watch TV or something. When I do sleep, I keep having these nightmares…nightmares about the hospital, where they're asking me if there's anyone they can call, anyone I want them to call.

You know there isn't.

My dad took off when I was six, and somewhere along the line, somewhere after my high school graduation, I finally got the hint that he wasn't coming back. I don't know where he is. I don't care. Well. That's not entirely true. I care. But I will never admit it to anyone else in a million years.

My mom…we know about her. And even if she were alive, would she be one they could call? Hardly. You know as well as I do that they wouldn't have been able to find her unless they started calling all her favorite bars, and even if they did find her, what good would she have been? Even if, by some miracle, she wasn't passed out on the floor or on some bar somewhere, she'd have been too drunk to be any help.

I'm not even going to talk about Chris.

And my cats, smart and wonderful though they are, haven't learned how to use the phone yet.

So, no. No. There's nobody they can call.

I'm Lilly Rush…the lone wolf cop.

I am alone.

John Smith pointed that out in the car tonight. He doesn't even know me, and yet…he does. I'm slowly but surely beginning to realize that we cops…well…we aren't that different from the criminals we encounter every day. Oh, we like to think we are, but it's people like John Smith that make me realize that we're not. I can see that…underneath all the insane sociopathic killer stuff…he's lonely. Just like I am.

It always unnerves me when these doers, these scumbags who get off on watching other people suffer, turn their skills on us detectives and make us relive our nightmares. That's not their job, dammit. It's _our_ job to get _them_ to confess, not the other way around. But I know from experience that, from time to time, I'm going to run into a psychopath like John. I know this. And yet…even though I know…even though I'm prepared…when it happens, it always knocks me back a little. Especially now.

Okay, _fine._ Dammit. You wanna know the truth? Here it is. I'm not okay with the shooting. Is that what you want to hear? I'm not fine. I'm not sleeping, I'm having nightmares and flashbacks, every time I hear a loud noise, I practically jump out of my skin. I have these random moments when things just…scare me…and I can't breathe, and my heart starts going a mile a minute, and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body. Triggered by the simplest, tiniest, stupidest little things. Hell, a few days after the shooting, I was channel-surfing and saw someone get shot, and I just about lost it. Full-fledged panic attack.

Holding my gun was terrifying the first few times I did it, although tonight…tonight it was okay. Tonight, I wasn't even thinking about that. I was just so revolted and disgusted and furious at John that I actually wanted to take his life. Just squeeze the trigger and end him. The only other time I've wanted to do that was with George, and…well. I did.

I don't even want to talk about that one.

And Scotty…Oh, my God, Scotty. I've never seen him as livid as he was tonight. I know Scotty's got a temper, don't get me wrong. Anybody who's known Scotty for more than about ten minutes knows he's got a temper. His temper…well…it's just part of who he is. He doesn't apologize for it, he doesn't try to change it, it just is. And when something gets under his skin, you can just _see_ the rage…simmering there, under the surface, and you don't know when or why he's gonna lose it, but there just comes a point in time when I'm watching him, when his eyes narrow and start to spark, his lips make that tight little line, and he starts breathing a little quicker, when I _know_, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he's going over the edge, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I've only actually seen him completely lose it once. That was the day he came back after Elisa's suicide, which I knew the second I saw him was a bad idea. He looked so…lost. So broken. I wanted to just pull him into my arms and take all his pain away from him. But he wouldn't let me. Just like…just like I wouldn't let him do that for me when my mom died. I know he wanted to. I could see it in his eyes. And for a second….for a second, I would have let him. But that would have meant admitting that I wasn't on top of it, in control, Detective Lilly Rush. And I hate doing that.

But Scotty…God. He was in so much pain, and I wanted to do something, anything to take it away from him, but all he wanted to do was be at work. And now, I can relate. Because when my mom died, work was the place I wanted to be. It was where I needed to be…at work, keeping busy…so I didn't have to deal with the pain.

And now I'm almost laughing at the irony of it all, because if I hadn't gone to work that day, I wouldn't have gotten shot. Just like if Scotty hadn't gone to work that day three years ago, I wouldn't have ever seen the full force of the Scotty Valens temper.

Which is what I was actually talking about. Anyway, that day, I knew he shouldn't have been at work, and that was cemented the moment Maurice Warfield started talking about suicide. I couldn't believe the miserable luck, that Scotty had to get roped into that, and quite frankly, I can't even imagine what was going through his head at that point. I just knew that before too long, Maurice was going to say something that would make Scotty snap, and when he said that suicide tells your loved ones that they've failed, I knew that was going to be it. Everything started moving in slow motion, then…Scotty just grabbed the guy and slammed his face into the table, and I couldn't move. I was frozen to the floor. I literally couldn't do anything. I was so overwhelmed by his pain and his rage; it was flooding the room, waves of it threatening to drown us all, and my heart just broke for him.

Most of the time, Scotty's temper flare-ups are short-lived, and he's mostly in control of the situation. He uses that temper of his; it's like another weapon in his arsenal, a tool he can use to catch doers. Good cop, bad cop, him and me. Most of the time, I'm the good cop, the one who's sympathetic, the listening ear. He's the one who'll smack you around a little. But with Maurice…it was deeply, deeply personal. Like Maurice was driving another dagger into Scotty's soul. And that man carries more dagger scars on his soul than anybody I know. And I think…I think a lot of them are self-inflicted. I know he blames himself for just about everything that's gone wrong with the people he loves. He blames himself for Elisa's suicide, and I don't think there's a thing in the world that can be done about that. I wish there were, but I can't for the life of me think of what it is. And he blames himself for what happened to his brother, I know that, too. I wonder what else he blames himself for.

So tonight, tonight in the car…that was only the second time I've seen Scotty completely lose it. He just hauled that guy out of the car and started kicking the crap out of him, and I honestly don't know what he would have done if I hadn't stopped him. Scotty was a violent, raging beast tonight, like I've never seen before, and he scared me. He actually scared me. He wasn't in control, not at all, and like I said, I've only seen him like that once.

I wonder why.

I wonder why tonight, why John Smith set him off like that. I saw Scotty start simmering in the car, almost from the second John asked about my perfume. I knew what he was doing. He was doing a sad, pathetic, Silence of the Lambs routine. Like cops don't watch movies about serial killers. Please. I knew exactly what he was doing. And the funny thing was, I never wear the stuff. Scotty always wears that aftershave, though, sometimes a little too much of it, if you ask me, so I'm sure that's what John was smelling. And Scotty's right, there's nothing flowery about it. It's…musky. Spicy. A little earthy. Just…Scotty.

Okay, Rush. You're teetering perilously close to the deep end…analyzing your partner's aftershave?

God, I really need a good night's sleep.

So I know that wasn't what rattled him. It must have been when John was talking about Brenda. I'm sure that's it. Scotty's got a soft spot for the broken-wing girl, the damsel-in-distress, the beautiful princess about to be eaten by the dragon. I've seen it in a lot of guys, but it's especially strong in Scotty. I saw how hard he tried to rescue Elisa, and I realized a couple of years ago that it wasn't a new pattern with him. Not after I heard about Ana. God, that's another thing he blames himself for.

I wish Scotty could see himself as I see him. He's a good guy. He's smart, dedicated, funny, passionate, and he's got the biggest heart of anybody I know. Sure, he tries to cover it up with all that cocky bravado, but he just has the most enormous capacity for love I've ever seen. You know, sometimes I wonder why Scotty, with that big heart of his, insists on selling himself short in the romance department. I'm sure he's still suffering over Elisa; there's no way something like that doesn't mess you up. And he told me last year, in Nashville, that he thinks every good cop is a lone wolf; that marriage may not be in the cards for us. On some level, I think he's right. Marriage probably isn't in the cards for me. My heart broke a little bit when he said that, because I guess some silly, little-girl part of me always thought maybe it was in the cards for me, too. But…I'm well into my thirties, obsessed with my job, and unlucky in love. That's just who I am. I'm struggling to accept it, I think I do pretty good most days. But, him…Scotty. If he doesn't get married someday, well…there's just something wrong with the world. He's so caring, so sweet…a little rough around the edges, of course, a bit lacking in the self-control department, and he does make some bad decisions, but underneath that, he's just…so _good._ And I know that, for the right woman, he'd make a great husband. A great father, too.

But for whatever reason, he seems to have given up on love. It doesn't make sense, really, because underneath all that cynicism we cops seem to carry around on us like it's a part of our uniform, I see this…this flame of optimism. Of hope. Of this innocent, almost childlike faith that if he's just…good enough, that things will work out. That good things will happen to him, if he just hangs on and does the right thing. I love that about him. I kinda wish it would rub off on me. And I wish…I wish a little of me would rub off on him. I wish I could show him that sometimes you can do everything right, and still have something crappy happen. It's just the way life is. You can't control it. You're not responsible for every bad thing that happens.

So, anyway, I can't for the life of me understand why he's settling for the Charlenes of the world, why he insisted on sleeping with that ADA when...when he didn't even _like_ her. I'm no saint, of course, but I can't see the point in sleeping with someone you don't even like. I'm wondering where his heart is. Is it still with Elisa? Is it just walled off someplace? I know it's there somewhere, because Scotty's heart is what makes him who he is. And he's still Scotty.

At least, he's still…mostly Scotty. But for the past several months, he's seemed different. A little angrier. A little more distant. Like his rough edges are getting a little rougher. I know IAD was after him for a while, last fall…he practically accused the entire squad of ratting him out about the Burrell job, but it turned out Alex Thomas was the one who told IAD about that. Besides, they…patched things up after that, it seems…so that can't be it.

But the past few months, he's been…watching me. Almost hovering. Like a mother hen. Oh, he'll never say anything, he knows better than to do that, but he looks at me like he thinks I might break any second. That look in his eyes tonight when I told Boss I was going to West Virginia to get John…that look was one of discomfort, one of concern, and one of, "No way in hell are you going alone." Which is good, really. Because I wanted to ask him, but I didn't want to…_ask_ him. I wanted him to just…_know_…that I needed someone. That I needed…_him._

Goddammit. I hate being weak and needy. I hate needing people.

But…needing Scotty…that's different, somehow. He doesn't look at me like I'm weak. He doesn't try to…rescue me. He does what I need him to do, but it's always with this…respect. There's this undercurrent there; that he knows I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself, but for whatever reason, in that moment, I need someone else to help, and he does it. He…just lets me be me. He seems to know when to step in and when to butt out, and I really appreciate that about him. He just…knows how to handle me. And that's way more than I can say for everybody else I know. And I know he cares. I know from the look in his eyes…those eyes that are just so dark and expressive. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and his eyes are even more so than most. And when I look into them, I know that it's all going to be okay. He believes in me, and that helps me believe, too. Believe that I'll get through this, because I have the strength to survive. I've made it this long, I've overcome so much…what's one more thing?

That's what gets me out of bed in the morning, John. Not catching scumbags like you. Don't flatter yourself…I don't out of bed in the morning because of you. I get out of bed in the morning because I'm on this earth for a reason, a purpose. There's a plan out there for me somewhere…call it fate, call it destiny, call it divine providence, whatever, but I lived through that shooting for a reason. I am Lilly Rush for a reason. I'm here because I'm me. And the world needs me to be who I am. Maybe that sounds cocky, maybe not, but that's it. That's why I get up in the morning.

For a while, after I got shot, I wondered why I'd lived. I have no boyfriend, no family, and a job that'll suck the life out of you if you're not careful, but I can't imagine doing anything else. It was what I was born to do. It's why I'm here. I love that look on people's faces when I tell them that finally, finally they can let it go, that they can let go of some of their pain and their sorrow and their anger at some unknown person. It doesn't always make them feel better, but it does give them a measure of peace. A measure I've felt so little in my life, but if I can help other people find it, well, then I think I'm doing what I was put here to do. It's not so much about catching criminals, because, truth be told, a lot of the criminals we round up aren't sociopaths like John. Most of the time, they're jilted lovers, jealous siblings, or misguided kids. People…just like us. People who make a bad choice. And a lot of the time, the satisfaction doesn't come from taking those people off the streets. But giving the victim's loved ones closure, knowing that no victim, no matter how long they've been dead, is ever forgotten, that every person on this earth matters, giving that victim justice, seeing them finally at peace…that's the satisfaction. That's the reason we do what we do.

But I won't lie to you, in my darker moments…I thought about giving up. Boss made me take a month off work. A whole month. And that was the loneliest month of my life. My co-workers came to see me when they could, but they're busy, of course, and besides, it's different when they're visiting you at home. They're my co-workers, but they're not really my friends. There's not a lot we have in common besides work.

Except Scotty. Scotty came to see me a few times. We wouldn't talk much, he'd just sit there and watch movies with me. He brought me dinner a couple times, and once he even cooked for me. I had no idea Scotty even knew how to cook. But we never, ever talked about what happened, and I noticed that…a lot of the time…he wouldn't even look at me. It would have been nice to have someone help me change the dressing on my bullet wound, but I wasn't about to ask Scotty, and from the look in his eyes, he wasn't about to volunteer.

Oh, my God.

Scotty blames himself for me getting shot.

No. That can't be. That's ridiculous. He saved my life.

But if I know Scotty Valens, and I do…he's been beating himself up for the last several months because he thinks the shooting is all his fault.

Goddammit. What the hell am I gonna do about that now?

That must be why he snapped out tonight; he saw how hollow and empty I've been lately. Scotty saw in me…what he must have seen in Elisa toward the end. Now, I never would have taken my own life, but the idea of just…giving up…of not looking for a way out…I'll admit, in my darker moments, that thought did occur to me. To just…quit. To stop being, and let nature take care of the rest.

So that's what Scotty must have seen. I tried to hide it, when John asked. But when he said that it sounded like I had experience with not looking for a way out…that's the moment Scotty snapped. That's when the rage boiled over and he whipped the car off the road and pulled John out. He did that…

…because of me. He snapped out because…

Because why? Because he wanted to rescue me? No, that can't be it. He's already rescued me once, dammit. You'd think that would have given him his hero fix for the year.

Wait, what am I saying? Scotty's not in it for the glory. I knew that when I told him my first day back that I'd bragged to IAD about what a hero he was. I expected him to do that cocky schoolboy routine that he does so well, to make some smartass comment like he usually does, but instead, he just shrugged, gave me this shy smile and told me not to make him do it again. It was almost like…he didn't want to have to rescue me.

Why is that, I wonder. Scotty's all about the rescuing; why did he tell me not to make him do it again?

Oh, crap. Thinking about the shooting always does this. That's why I don't do it all that often. I've tried, really I have, but despite my best efforts, I feel another flashback coming on. Nothing to do except wait it out. Here we go again.

I hear the bang from the gun and the shattering of glass, I feel the hot pain in my shoulder, I feel the cold, hard wall as the force of the bullet shoves me back, and I feel myself falling. Been there, done that.

Wait…this part is new.

I'm falling…and someone's catching me. Someone strong…someone warm. I start to smell things now…I never smelled things in my flashbacks before, but I can smell them now, just as real as if it was happening right here in my living room…the metal of the bullet, the warm, sickly sweet smell of my own blood, the smoke of the gun…but underneath all that, underneath the smoke and the blood and the metal…I smell…musk. Spice. Earth.

Scotty.

Scotty?

Scotty caught me? I never knew that. I just thought I lay there on the floor all alone until the paramedics got there. Scotty was there? I think I must be dreaming this up…the product of a long day and a long night and a long time being alone…but no. It seems real. Scotty was there. He caught me.

Instead of trying to shut off the flashback, trying to bury the memory, something infuses me with strength, and suddenly I'm…curious. I want to see the rest of the story. I want to know where this goes. So I stay with the flashback, I stay in the moment…

And I hear a voice. Feel, it really. I feel the vibrations of Scotty's chest as he yells at an unseen someone to get the paramedics. He yells again, louder this time, almost hysterical with…with fear. Scotty? Fear? I've only seen him truly afraid once…that day Elisa went missing. But he's afraid. I can sense it. His heart is hammering wildly against my cheek as he cradles me to his chest, and his breath hitches a little. And now…I feel something warm and wet drop onto my forehead. Just one drop. Is it raining? Is that blood somehow?

No…I suddenly realize. It's…a tear. Scotty's crying. I've never seen him cry before.

The truth hits me. He's crying...because he's afraid… of losing me.

Oh, _God._ Why didn't he ever tell me? That must be what he didn't want me to make him do again…it's gotta be that helplessness, that fear, that utter panic and dread that someone you love might not make it.

Love?

I freeze.

_Love?_

Well, of course, Scotty …loves me. He's my partner. He's my friend. We've got this…this bond…this connection. We're in each other's souls. We can finish each other's sentences, and read each other's minds. We know each other, I think, better than we know ourselves. It's a kind of love, I suppose, although I've never really thought about it like that…

But that fear, that panic, that I just now remembered….that's not just "friend and partner" panic. No, that's…that's Elisa panic. That's…_love_…panic.

Oh, my God.

I start laughing. Now I know I've gone off the deep end. Weeks upon weeks of nightmares and insomnia, capped off by a crazy night with a psychopathic serial killer have led up to this moment: I'm half convinced my partner's in love with me.

I've completely lost it. Maybe I need to go back to that shrink. I'm just sitting there laughing, and laughing…

…and I stop…when I realize that…that I don't think I'm making it up. I'm not convinced yet, but I'm starting to realize that…if he does love me…that explains so much.

It explains why he's been so overprotective lately, why he's so worried about me. Why he looks at me like I'm made out of eggshells.

Why he couldn't look at my bullet wound.

Why he came over that morning, when my mom died, and why he looked at me with those intense, soulful eyes of his, like he wanted to say so much more than just "I'm here for you…anything…you know that." He said so much with so little. And then, as he left… "You need me…just say hey, and I'll be there."

_Hey._

That little word said so much.

That little word saved my life.

That little word could…_change_ my life…if I let it.

I suddenly realize that…I think…I think maybe…I want it to change my life. I think that maybe…needing Scotty…leaning on him, letting him catch me when I fall, letting him into my heart…I might want that. No…I _do_ want that.

I want that…because…oh, my God.

I love him.

I love Scotty.

I've loved him for…how long?

I don't even know.

I can't see straight anymore, because my eyes are filling with tears.

I love Scotty Valens. As not just a friend…not just a partner…

I _love _him.

And now I realize why I couldn't love Joseph…why I couldn't leave with Ray…because my heart's been…claimed, already. Like Scotty just…wormed his way in there and scribbled his name all over it, and it's just been sitting there, all along, waiting for me to reach this conclusion, waiting for me to realize what it must have known for a while now.

Waiting for me to solve the mystery.

I start laughing, and crying, all at the same time. I can't believe what I just figured out, and I can't believe it took me this long, and I'm still half convinced that maybe I'm making it all up.

Suddenly, I want to see him. I _need_ to see him. I need to know that I'm not nuts, that I haven't gone off the deep end. I need to talk to him…I need to look in his eyes and see what's there. See what those windows to his soul tell me.

I need to hear what happened…I need to hear him tell me about the day I got shot. I need to know that I'm not making that last part up, that new part that I just remembered. That part where he caught me. I need to hear it, and I need to hear it from him, because if that's real…then…this is, too.

I should be afraid. I should be doing the Lilly Rush thing. I should be sitting here thinking of all the reasons why this is a bad idea, about how I probably shouldn't be making a life-altering decision on no sleep after a night with a sociopath, about the fact that I suck at relationships, about Chris, about everybody at work, about the fact that we're partners, we're friends, and if this blows up in our faces, it'll ruin everything…but I'm not thinking about all those things.

I'm just thinking about…_him._ Scotty.

I glance at my watch; it's well after seven. He's surely home by now. He's gotta be at his apartment, and if what I saw tonight is any indication, he won't be asleep for a while.

I need him…and it doesn't scare the life out of me. Needing somebody, trusting somebody, leaning on somebody, it…it never felt right before. Never felt safe before.

But now it does.

I'm almost giddy now as I grab my keys and head out the door. It's like all these strange puzzle pieces have fallen into place, and now things make sense. That one mystery I couldn't solve…I finally figured it out. I get it now.

I just need to go find him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I was hoping to wrap things up in this chapter, but these two are stalling. Oh, well.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. If they were, this scene would have been on the show.**

* * *

I've never been to Scotty's apartment before. Oh, sure, I know where he lives; that's just something you know about your partner, but I've never been inside. I knock on the door, softly at first, then a little louder.

He doesn't answer.

Where the hell could he be? Surely he's back from work by now. Boss said he was back in Philly, that he'd made a trip to lockup and taken great pleasure in throwing John Smith in there. And if I know Boss, if Scotty showed up in the office after that, Boss would have dragged him out if he'd needed to.

So where is he?

I test the door experimentally, and I discover it's unlocked. Sudden irritation surges through my veins. What the hell kind of cop keeps their door unlocked?

Suddenly afraid, I creep in. Tentatively, slowly.

"Scotty?" I call.

No answer.

"Scotty?" I ask, a little louder.

I glance around his living room, his kitchen. Well…he's been here, anyway. His tie is draped haphazardly over the couch, like he ripped it off the second he got in the door and just dropped it someplace. I look to my left and see that his keys and gun are on the bureau. There's a bottle of scotch on the kitchen table, and a shattered glass on the floor. I can see a little dent where it hit the wall, and there are pieces of broken glass everywhere. Looks like Scotty had a rough morning, too.

I smile slightly, cap the scotch, and set it with the other bottles on his bureau, then start sweeping up the glass with a broom I find in the corner. Maybe it sounds strange, but it reminds me of home, and…not always in a bad way. Even if you have a crappy childhood, sometimes things that remind you of that childhood, even things that suck, are…well…comforting, somehow. I can't really explain it.

I sweep the glass up into a dustpan I find lurking beside the fridge, toss it in the trash, and keep looking around for Scotty, realizing that all the evidence points to him being asleep.

The door to his bedroom is slightly open, and I peer through the crack. Sure enough, he's sound asleep. He's still dressed, still has his shoes on, even. In a flash, I see what happened. He was still mad when he got home, knocked back a few shots to chase away the rage, then passed out on the bed. I sigh when I see him. He's out cold, but he doesn't look peaceful. He looks…shell-shocked, almost.

He looks exactly like I feel.

I glance around his bedroom. I should feel like I'm intruding…but strangely enough, I don't. I feel like…I'm welcome here. It's bizarre. I shouldn't feel this way, not here, not at Scotty's. It's weird, sure, but not necessarily in a bad way.

I look at him again, and love floods my heart. He's…gorgeous. I never realized how good-looking he was before. Four years, and I'm just now seeing it. How did I never notice? I look at him for a few minutes, just watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, watching the way his closed eyes flit back and forth and those long, dark lashes flutter against his cheek.

I decide maybe I should take his shoes off, do what I can to make him a little more comfortable. I sneak over, sit down on the bed gently, and unlace his right shoe. As I'm taking it off, I notice that his toes are a little swollen. My God. I didn't realize how hard he'd been kicking John. If Scotty kicked him hard enough that he hurt himself…compassion fills my heart. I'm deeply moved. Nobody's ever…fought for me…before.

If, that is, in fact, what he was doing. If, in fact, I'm not crazy or dreaming this up.

I gently set his shoe down on the floor and start in on the other one, and he stirs then, moans slightly, and open his eyes. Crap. He's gonna see me here, in his bedroom, uninvited, and it's gonna scare the life out of him.

He blinks a couple of times, looking dazedly around the room, and I briefly consider just hiding under the bed or something, but then his eyes seem to focus as he looks at me. Double crap.

I freeze. Too late to run, and nowhere to hide. Guess I'll just make the best of it and hope he doesn't freak out.

"Hey," I say softly, smiling at him in what I hope is a reassuring way.

Scotty smiles back, a slightly tipsy smile, and I can tell he hasn't quite slept it off yet. He's getting there, but he's still pretty well-lit.

"Lil," he says in surprise, his voice sounding thick and raspy.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be in Scotty's bedroom…not now…not yet…not until we figure things out…not until I tell him what I came to tell him. Not until I know that this is real. But…I can't move. I don't want to go anywhere else, and I definitely don't want to go home and be alone. Scotty and I went through this horrible night together, I reason; it's only right that we should be together now.

We stare at each other for a few minutes, sizing each other up, almost, and suddenly he scoots over on the bed.

"Can't sleep?" he asks. He doesn't even ask me what I'm doing there. In fact, the look in his eyes clearly says he doesn't truly believe I'm there at all. I think he thinks he's dreaming, and I can't help but smile.

I look at him again, realizing I haven't answered his question, and I just sigh and shake my head. He pats the bed next to him. "Maybe…maybe you can sleep here," he suggests blearily.

Sleep…here? In Scotty's bed? Next to him? When I don't even know for sure whether or not I've gone off the deep end? That can't possibly be a good idea. I glance at him suspiciously.

"C'mon, Lil," he says groggily. "Bed's…too big…for one person," he mumbles, almost incoherently, as his eyes fall shut again.

He's half-asleep, he's half-drunk, but, I realize… but he's completely right. The bed is too big for one person. I've been thinking that for a long, long time now. And suddenly, the exhaustion floods over me, and I couldn't leave now if I wanted to. Couldn't even stand up. I knew it would hit me eventually, like a truck, and…well…it just did. I don't really have a choice.

With a sigh, I kick off my shoes, pull my hair out of its ponytail, and lie down next to Scotty. We don't cuddle or anything, he doesn't wrap his arms around me, I've actually got my back to him…but he's just…there. He knows exactly what I need. Even half drunk and mostly asleep he knows this. He knows I need…him. He's known that for a long time. Why the hell am I just now figuring it out?

And suddenly…suddenly I can't think anymore, because I'm…oh, thank God…falling asleep.

* * *

I wake up in some serious pain. Oh, God. Why the hell did I drink so much scotch last night? My head is throbbin', my tongue's stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my eyes ain't even close to goin' the right direction. Seriously…what the hell? Why the hell did I drink so much? What the hell was I tryin' to forget this time?

Oh, shit. Right. John Fuckin' Smith, and his damn dungeons, and his damn psychological warfare, and his damn comments about Lil…

_Lil. _

And suddenly, I remember what else I tried to drown in scotch last night.

Goddammit.

I'm in…love with Lil.

_Congratulations, Valens_, I say to myself. _Of all the stupid-assed moves you've made in your life, this one's tops. Nice work, really. You should be proud of yourself._

On the upshot, though, I figure it's all gonna be downhill from here. Ain't nothin' I can do to top this screw-up, no matter how hard I try. It's…unbelievable. Epic, even. No way can I ever, in a million years, screw up worse than this. That thought's…kinda comfortin', in a weird sorta way.

My comfort's short-lived, though, as I realize that I gotta somehow worm my way outta the mess I've fallen into.

Shit. What am I gonna do about Lil? No way in hell she loves me back, I know that like I know my own phone number. But I also know love, and, unfortunately, I know me, and when the two of us meet, it's hard, fast, and intense. And it don't go away easy. I'm just now gettin' over missin' Elisa every day, and it's been three years. Once I'm in love…I'm in love. Ain't no goin' back from it, no matter how hard I try.

Goddammit.

So how am I gonna handle this? Act like nothin's happenin'? Act like she's still just my partner? Smile when guys flit their way in and out of her life, knowin' that the one she should be with is me, and dyin' a little bit inside every day she doesn't realize it?

Hmmm…workin' together doesn't sound like a good plan. Sounds like a surefire way to get my heart broken, piece by tiny piece.

So…do I leave? Transfer? Move? That'd keep me from havin' to watch Lil get hurt by guys who ain't right for her, keep me from havin' to fake a smile when she starts seein' somebody new…but it'd also keep me from seein' Lil at all. A life without Lil in it…that sounds pretty bleak. At least if I stay, I still get to be with her…still get to see her smile, still get to make her laugh, still get to make sure bastards like John Smith don't get away with givin' her shit. It won't change the bond. It won't change the connection. It won't change the fact that we're…partners.

But it's gonna be damn hard to pretend that's all we are.

Shit, this is complicated. I curse my heart and my goddamn misguided affections. I've fallen for the wrong woman before, more than I care to admit, and this one…this is the ultimate wrong woman. What is it Vera likes to say? Oh, yeah. Ill-advised. Lil's the queen of ill-advised.

Goddammit, what the hell is wrong with me? Why the hell can't I find a normal woman to fall for; one that ain't sick in the head, one that ain't a member of the Rush family, one that ain't a Colombian drug mule? Ain't there any normal women out there to fall for?

And I realize, with a sick certainty, that even if there was a normal woman out there, I wouldn't look twice at her…'cause my heart's already spoken for.

Goddammit. I gotta go find some aspirin, and maybe that'll make it so I can go back to sleep. Maybe I can sleep for another couple days and all this'll just go away. What time is it, anyway?

I roll over to look at the clock, and…

Holy shit!

There's a woman in my bed. What the hell? How drunk _was _I last night?

Oh, _shit._

The woman is Lil.

_Lil?_

In my bed?

Well, that can't be right.

What the hell did I _do _last night?

I start lookin' around on the floor for my clothes, thinkin' maybe I mighta found a way to top the fallin' in love with Lil screw-up after all, and I'm suddenly irritated for a second that, if I _did_…if _we _did_…_and I don't even remember it…wouldn't that just be tops?

Before I can get too carried away, I realize, with some relief, that I'm still wearin' my clothes. She's still wearin' hers, come to think of it.

Whew. Okay. So we didn't…

Wait a minute. She didn't even come home with me last night. She left before I did; left to go back to Philly and find Brenda. So…if I didn't bring her home with me…not that I'd ever do that anyway, but…if I didn't…how the hell did she get here? What the hell is she _doin'_ here?

It suddenly dawns on me that what she's doin…is sleepin'. Lil's sleepin'.

Oh, thank God.

I glance at her. She's rolled over on her side, facin' away from me, but if I get up and kinda creep around the bed a little, I can see her face. She looks…oh, thank God. She looks relaxed. She looks peaceful.

She looks absolutely beautiful.

I never seen anything more beautiful in my life. Her blonde hair's fanned out on the pillow like…like some kinda halo or somethin'. Her eyes are shut, but I know if they were open, they'd be blindin' me with that sapphire brilliance. Her skin…looks like a china cup. Her body….

_Okay, Valens. Clearly, you're still drunk off your ass, because no way in hell is Lilly Rush in your bed. Just back away, stagger out to the couch, and finish out the night, day, whatever the hell it is, away from here. You're obviously hallucinatin'._

I obey my brain, but I realize as soon as I get out to the living room that I ain't sleepin' another wink, not as long as I think I've got Lil in my bed. I wander to the kitchen to get a glass of water and some aspirin, and as I'm puttin' the aspirin back in the cabinet, that's when I realize that the glass from last night is cleaned up; the scotch is back where I keep it on my bureau.

Holy mother of God. Lil's here. She's actually _here_. In my apartment. I ain't dreamin', I ain't hallucinatin'. I ain't makin' it up.

I cross the room in about a step, and push open the bedroom door. Nope. I ain't imaginin' this, not at all. She's actually here.

I stand there, just frozen to the spot, watchin' her sleep. I'm torn. I wanna lay down next to her, wrap my arms around her, run my fingers through her hair, and just enjoy the feelin' of her pressed up against me. But that might wake her up. And no way in hell am I gonna do that. Couldn't pay me enough. Lil hasn't slept good in months, and I ain't takin' away the first good night's sleep she had. It occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, if she sleeps good here…maybe I can talk her into sleepin' here more often.

_Get real, Valens. You're dreamin'. No sense torturin' yourself wantin' what you can't have._

I should just leave her alone. I know I should.

But I realize, as I'm standin' there, how hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with her I am, and who the hell knows if I'm ever gonna get an opportunity like this again?

I settle for kneelin' down next to the bed and just watchin' her for a while. I got no idea how long I'm there, but time just seems to stop. I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, I can feel her soft breaths against my cheek. I'm close enough to her that I catch a whiff of her hair.

She smells like heaven.

I can't believe I'm darin' to do this, but I reach out and take a lock of her hair between my fingers and just caress it. It's so soft. Unbelievably soft. Just like her skin, I discover, when my thumb wanders over and gently brushes against her cheek.

And suddenly, my mind's goin' places it shouldn't go. Not with Lil. Not with my partner. Not with a woman who'll never feel about me the way I feel about her. I can't trust myself anymore. I gotta get outta there.

I rise to my feet, wrestle once more with what I _wanna_ do versus what I _should_ do, and end up takin' the gentleman's route. A whole lot less fun, but also a whole lot less likely to get my ass kicked.

I head out to the living room, and I realized I'm a bundle of nervous energy. I try to watch TV, but it's no good. Usually, turnin' on SportsCenter makes me forget about pretty much everything else, but not this time. All I can think about is Lil.

I gotta get outta here. I gotta just get outta my apartment for a while and let Lil sleep. I grab a bagel, wolf it down, and realize I...actually feel pretty good. My hangover ain't nearly as bad as I thought it was gonna be. The aspirin seems to have taken care of the headache, and I feel mostly human again. Nervous as hell, pretty tightly wound, but…human. I just…gotta get outta here for a while. See if I can clear my head and figure out what the hell I'm gonna do. Got a lot to wrap my mind around, and I realize that I do my best thinkin' when I'm goin' for a run. Plus, I'd get to expend some of this nervous energy I suddenly have. Suddenly, runnin' sounds like the best idea I've had in about a week.

I sneak back into the bedroom and grab a change of clothes and my sneakers. I don't dare even look at Lil, or there's no way I'm leavin' again. I change in the living room, grab my keys, and head out.

* * *

Sunlight streams through the window. I feel warm. Safe. And…oh, thank God. Rested. This is the first morning in months I haven't woken up feeling more exhausted than I was when I went to bed. I'd forgotten how good a good night's sleep feels. I feel like a fool for taking it for granted all these years. I stretch languidly, feeling it from my fingers to the tips of my toes. I feel like a million bucks.

I glance at the clock and realize it's well after noon. I haven't slept long, but I'll take it.

Wait a minute. This isn't my clock.

I sit up in bed and glance around, then realize, with a start, where I am.

I'm at Scotty's apartment.

Why am I here again? Oh, _right._ Because I was tired and delusional last night and had myself half convinced I'm in love with Scotty. And for some idiot reason, I decided that the best thing to do, the smartest, wisest, most responsible move I could possibly make, would be to somehow sneak into his apartment at seven in the morning. He must think I'm crazy. Hell, _I _think I'm crazy. How in the world am I going to face him? What the hell am I going to tell him? What reason could I possibly give him that won't make him look at me like I've got two heads? I'm either certifiably loony, or else I'm in love with my partner. Neither option is particularly appealing.

I glance around the bedroom, and discover that he's nowhere to be seen. I creep out of bed and smooth my hair halfheartedly, wishing I'd had the foresight to bring some kind of a hairbrush, and finally I dig around in my purse for a clip and corral it as best I can. I smooth the wrinkles out of my clothes, take a deep breath, and peek cautiously out into the living room. I don't see Scotty.

I can't believe my luck. I don't know where he is, and at this point, I don't care. He's not home, and I can get the hell out of here and back to my own apartment where I belong. I was half-convinced early this morning that I was in love with him, and he with me, and…and maybe…maybe that's true. But…one shouldn't go making life altering decisions on no sleep after a night with a sociopath. I need to go home, clear my head, figure out exactly what's going on, exactly why I've all of a sudden decided I think I'm in love with Scotty, and wait until tomorrow. Deal with him at work, when I haven't spent the night in his bed and when I won't have to answer the million questions I'm sure he's just burning up to ask. Yes, that's definitely the way to go.

I gather up my things and head for the door, and just as I'm about to open it, somehow, it opens for me… and Scotty's standing there.

_Crap._

We freeze, just stand there looking at each other like deer caught in headlights. He's obviously been out running, as evidenced by his shorts and T-shirt. He's dripping with sweat, and he's lifting his T-shirt to wipe his face, giving me a glorious glimpse of his toned midsection. Oh, _God._ I knew he was good-looking, but this is just ridiculous. To my horror, my eyes, of their own accord, travel over those sculpted ridges, take in his muscular legs, then higher, to his broad shoulders. To my chagrin, I feel myself starting to blush as my mind whirls with thoughts...thoughts I should definitely not be having about Scotty. Not unless…not unless I'm not making this up. That thought's even more frightening.

He recovers before I can fully process what's going on. "Hey, Lil," he says lightly, still a little winded from his run, and lets his T-shirt drop. My head snaps up in surprise, and I meet his eyes. He's remarkably calm about the whole thing, looking at me like coming back from a run and finding me in his apartment is a perfectly normal occurrence.

"Hey," I respond, hoping my voice doesn't betray the thoughts I've been having.

"You…takin' off?" he asks lightly, confusion swimming in those dark eyes.

I can't answer. All I can do is just stare as he comes inside. I step aside so he can enter, and he drops his keys on the bureau and heads for the kitchen to get some water. "You had breakfast yet?" he asks suddenly, with a casualness and comfort that astound me.

No, I realize. I haven't. And I'm _starving._

"No," I reply slowly.

"Well, I ain't much of a cook, but…I can make some mean scrambled eggs," he says with a grin, then starts guzzling his water.

"That sounds….nice," I say finally, with a shaky smile. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sets the glass down beside the sink, and turns to face me.

"Well, lemme go grab a shower, and then we'll see about those eggs," he says, tossing me another grin as he heads into the bedroom.

I sigh and sink down onto the couch, realizing that, whether I was making up the love part or not, the lust part is now fully present and disturbingly real. Scotty Valens is incredibly sexy. How the hell did I never notice before? And why the hell am I noticing now?

Before I can fully recover, he pokes his head out of the bedroom. "Hey, Lil," he says. "If you wanna…change…or somethin'…I got some T-shirts and stuff in the drawer." He indicates it with a jerk of his head. "Might be a little big on you, but…" he trails off, suddenly looking like maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

I smile tentatively. That does sound nice. I've been in these clothes for almost thirty hours now.

"Yeah, okay," I say finally, and he smiles again and disappears.

As soon as I hear the water running, I sneak into the bedroom and dig in the drawer, finally pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a Sixers T-shirt, trying desperately not to think about the fact that I'm in Scotty's apartment, and he's naked and in the shower. I slip into the clothes and hurry back into the living room. The sweatpants are a little big, but the elastic helps, and the T-shirt…well…it's fabulous. Soft, warm, and as I slip it over my head, I catch a little whiff of his aftershave. I smell that familiar scent, and I'm done for. Memories flood back…the things I remembered last night…or at least, think I remembered…and I can't help it. The love washes over my heart like a tidal wave.

But I can't give in to it yet. I have to have that talk with him that I came to have. I think briefly about fleeing. This conversation isn't going to be easy, and I really, really want to run. But, I realize, it's necessary. If...if we're going to…if anything's going to…well, it's just necessary.

Besides, the water's off, and Scotty's slamming drawers again. There's no way out. It's do or die time. I take a deep breath as he opens the bedroom door and steps out into the living room.

* * *

I'm standin' in the shower, just lettin' the water wash away the sweat from the run and the filth from last night.

The run felt good. Helped me clear my head. Got my blood flowin' and completed the transformation from hung-over zombie back into Scotty Valens again. I had things all planned out, but damned if I can remember what any of my plans were, because as soon as I got home...that encounter with Lil just sent me back into that tailspin of confusion.

She was just gettin' ready to leave, it looked like. She'd put her hair up, gathered up her stuff, and had that determined look on her face, which went all to hell when she opened the door and saw me.

Man…she looked like a deer in the headlights. Never seen her look quite like that before. I'm sure she wasn't expectin' me, just like I wasn't expectin' to wake up and see her in my bed. I almost got a little bit annoyed then. She sneaks into my apartment, somehow winds up in bed next to me, and now she's gonna leave without even tellin' me how, or why, that even happened?

Oh, no way. No fuckin' way. She ain't gettin' off that easy.

So I threw out that whole lame-ass scrambled eggs invitation, and I was kinda surprised when she accepted it. So now I gotta figure out some way to ask her what the hell she's doin' in my apartment…in a way that'll actually get me an answer. 'Cause I know Lil, and when it comes to talkin' about anything more personal than the weather, she clams up faster than…well…a clam, I guess. I ain't really much for clever analogies at the moment, because I'm replayin' that scene in my head, and I'm suddenly rememberin' somethin'. When she saw me, she looked shell-shocked, but then…if I ain't mistakin'…she started checkin' me out. I don't know whether she liked what she saw or not…I was too busy tryin' to absorb the fact that Lilly Rush, the Ice Queen of Homicide, impressed by nothin' and swayed by no one, was lookin' me up and down. At least, I think she was. But whether she was or not, there's no denyin' that she was blushin' for some reason. It was so damn cute.

I rein my thoughts in again. _Just 'cause she's checkin' you out don't mean squat, Valens. She's probably just window shoppin'. She's never seen you in anything but suits before, so of course she's gonna look. It don't mean crap._

But at least she's still here, I remind myself. Whether she was checkin' me out or not, she's here. She ain't runnin' away yet. So, assumin' I can get it together enough to make her some eggs, maybe I'll get to find out why the hell she's in my apartment.

I step out of the shower, throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then quickly shave and splash on some of that aftershave. I look at the bottle for a second, tryin' to see if maybe they say on the label what it's supposed to smell like, makin' sure I ain't crazy, and that it doesn't have anything flowery in it. I never thought it did, but I ain't good at stuff like that. I just know what I like.

Nope. It ain't supposed to smell flowery. Accordin' to the label, it's supposed to smell "alluring" and "mysterious." Spicy and musky's what the bottle says it should smell like. Not a thing about flowers. I chuckle to myself and put the bottle back in the medicine cabinet. Stupid John Smith, makin' me question my aftershave. I fuckin' _hate _that guy.

I head out into the living room, and I see Lil. She looks adorable. She's got on my favorite Sixers T-shirt and a pair of my sweatpants. They're big on her, so they're kinda sittin' on her hips, which is all kinds of sexy, and that shirt's just showin' me all her beautiful curves. I'm thinkin' I may let her have that damn shirt, 'cause no way in hell does it look that good on me.

I shake my head, tryin' to get my mind outta the gutter. _She's your friend and partner, Valens. That's it. Your mission here is just to make her some eggs and see if maybe she'll tell you, before she bolts, why she snuck into your apartment in the middle of the night. _I realize that's challenge enough.

She smiles at me, and I'm relieved to see that it looks like she's relaxed some.

"Ready for those eggs?" I ask, as I head into the kitchen.

"Absolutely," she replies with a smile.

Well, okay, then. I dig around in the fridge for the eggs, and almost laugh out loud. If somebody told me I'd be makin' eggs for Lilly Rush this mornin', I think I prob'ly woulda hauled 'em off to the puzzle house… but here we are. I crack the eggs into the pan, and she's sittin' there at the counter, just watchin' me with this cryptic little smile. We ain't sayin' much, but somehow that doesn't feel weird. In fact, nothin' about this whole scene feels weird. It feels…kinda natural…havin' her here. Wonder how long I can convince her to stay. The fact that nothin's weird about this…well…okay,_ that's_ weird.

Suddenly, my little happy bubble is shattered by what Lil says.

"Scotty….we need to talk." I glance up, and I see that interrogatin'-a-suspect look in her eyes as she looks at me.

Shit. No way in hell can this be good.


	4. Chapter 4

**

* * *

**

Disclaimer: Clearly, not mine. But, oh…if they were….

**A/N: If this story had a theme song, it would be "Realize" by Colbie Callait. **

_If you just realize what I just realized_

_Then we'd be perfect for each other and we'd never find another_

_If you just realize what I just realized_

_Then we'll never have to wonder if we missed out on each other now._

* * *

"Scotty…we need to talk."

No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I instantly regret them. _We need to talk? _That's what you say when you're about to break up with someone, not tell them you just realized you're in love with them. God. No wonder I can't keep a guy around longer than two months.

Scotty's looking a little alarmed as he's standing there at the stove, stirring the eggs. He pauses, mid-stir, and I see a flicker of irritation in his dark eyes. Irritation is a good thing. It's actually what we want with suspects when we're interviewing them…poke at 'em a little, see where their soft spots are, and then go for it until they crack. And I realize, with a heart-wrenching certainty, that that's how I need to approach this. I have to approach it as an interrogator; keep my heart and my feelings out of it, if I want to learn what I need to know, if I have any chance of making a clear-headed decision about this at all.

The irritation passes, and Scotty recovers as he takes the eggs off the stove and dishes them onto two plates. They really do look good.

"Breakfast first, talk later," he replies with a grin, pouring me a cup of coffee as I dig into my breakfast. He was right...those eggs are delicious. I give him a slight smile in return. It would be so easy not to talk, and I so want to give in, but…we need to talk. Dammit.

I let him have a few bites of his scrambled eggs, and then I try again.

"Scotty," I say firmly. "I think…we need to talk about last night."

He smiles then, kind of a twisted smile, and shrugs slightly. "Okay, then," he begins. "Let's talk about last night."

I sigh with relief, but that relief is cut short by his next words.

"Let's talk about how come I woke up and found you in my bed this mornin'," he says, glancing at me with satisfaction as he takes another bite of his eggs.

_Crap. _This is not what I'd planned.

* * *

I can see the panic in her eyes, and I'm instantly regrettin' it a little bit. I'm afraid Lil's just gonna cut and run right there, just bolt outta my apartment without a backward glance. I see it in her eyes…oh, she's thinkin' about it. She wants to run, all right. But…she doesn't. She just sits there, takes another bite of her eggs, and seems to steel herself for somethin'. Good God, is she actually gonna…_tell_ me? I must be a better interrogator than I thought.

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," she finally says.

Aww, ain't that sweet? It also ain't a straight answer.

"Okay," I say calmly. "Maybe that explains why you came over. But that doesn't explain why you cleaned up the glass in here, why you came into my room, and why you laid down next to me and fell asleep in my bed. You wanna check on me, you peek in, see I'm sleepin', and leave. Try again, Rush," I say with a grin.

I can see just a little annoyance in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. Annoyance is good. Means I'm gettin' to her. It's dawned on me that I'm gonna have to treat Lil, the woman who owns my heart, the woman I love, like a damn suspect if I'm gonna get anything out of her. I can't be a man in love right now…I gotta be a cop. And I hate the hell outta that, but it's what I gotta do.

Too late, I realize I left a question wide open, and sure enough, she pounces.

"What about that broken glass, Scotty?" she asks quietly, around a mouthful of eggs. "Why was there a mostly empty bottle of scotch on your table? How come there's a dent in the wall and a shattered glass in your trash can? Looks like you came in still pissed off at John, knocked back a few, and passed out on the bed." She peers into my eyes.

I sigh. Well, I can at least own up to gettin' pissed off and drunk. That won't give anything away.

"Yeah, pretty much," I say lightly, tryin' to sound casual, hopin' beyond all hope she doesn't ask…

"But why the broken glass?" she asks. "Why'd you fling it against the wall? Something else must have happened."

Shit. I know the questions that are gonna come outta her mouth before she even asks 'em, but that doesn't do me a damn bit of good when it comes to answerin' 'em.

I answer Lil's question with one of my own. "Why'd you clean it up?" I ask, raisin' one of my eyebrows at her. "You coulda just left it there, y'know…how come you took it upon yourself to take care of it? 'Cause I know that ain't the first time you've done somethin' like that."

Oooh, score a point for me. Lil's glarin' at me all Ice Queen-like for a minute, then puts on her mask and takes a sip of her coffee. It ain't much, but I'll take every inch that woman cares to give me. She is so damn hard to figure out.

"This isn't about my childhood, Scotty," she says icily. "This is about you and me and last night."

I get annoyed then. We're gonna do this dance all day if I don't put my foot down.

"Lil…what do you really wanna know?" I ask softly.

She glances up in surprise. Don't think she expected that. That another point for me?

Nope.

"I wanna know why you kicked the crap out of John Smith," she says.

* * *

I can tell by the stunned look in Scotty's eyes that he wasn't expecting that question, and by the anger that replaces it that he doesn't want to answer. He gathers up our empty plates and sets them in the sink with way more force than he needs to, and for a second, I think I might have to find that broom and dustpan again, but the dishes don't break. Neither does he.

"Wouldn't you?" he asks me, as he takes his position on the other side of the counter and leans his arms on it. "Sick freak gets his jollies by lockin' girls in a dungeon and watchin' 'em lose their will to live, and that doesn't piss you off?"

"I don't think that's all it was, Scotty," I say, my voice rising a little. "Because the moment you snapped..." I pause, gathering my courage, ignoring the fury in his eyes, that dark, glittering fury that should be warning me to back the hell away, to not go there…and if I weren't being a cop right now, I'd leave it alone. But right now…I have to be a cop. It's the only way I'll get the information I need.

"The moment you snapped," I continue, "was right after John said I was familiar with not looking for a way out anymore. And I wanna know why that, of all things…why that did it."

His eyes flash fire, and I can tell he's about to erupt, but suddenly, the fire cools, it turns to something else…something like…inspiration. Oh, crap. I just gave him an opening, didn't I?

"Let's talk about that, Lil," he says softly, though I can detect the undercurrent of rage, simmering there, barely beneath the surface of his his words. "Let's talk about you bein' familiar with that."

* * *

I see the shock in her eyes, and it cuts me to the quick. I was hopin' it wouldn't be true, was hopin' that maybe I was readin' somethin' that wasn't there, but the look in her eyes tells me I was right all along, goddammit. She did think about givin' up. I knew it. I fuckin' _knew _it. Suddenly, I smack the counter with my fist, and she glances over at me in surprise, askin' a wordless question with those blue eyes of hers.

I don't wanna know. But yet I do. I gotta know how bad I screwed up, gotta know how bad Lil gettin' shot hurt her, gotta know how much damage I did to her. Call me masochistic, but I gotta know the worst of it. 'Cause if I don't know how bad it got for her, I'm gonna just spend the rest of my life torturin' myself by imaginin' the worst.

"I…never gave up, Scotty," she protests slowly, not meetin' my eyes.

"You thought about it," I press, leanin' over her like we're in the interview room. I gotta know. I gotta know all the gory details. I'm a glutton for punishment. Damn that Catholic guilt of mine.

"No," she says, but I know she's lyin', and my heart breaks a little bit.

I smack the counter with both hands, and the coffee cup that's still sittin' there jumps a little bit. So does Lil, for that matter.

"Don't…lie to me, Lil," I order heatedly, through clenched teeth, and she looks a little alarmed. She's never been interrogated by me before, and even though we're talkin' about the last thing I wanna talk about, I can't help but be a little bit proud of myself. My interrogation skills are comin' along nicely.

"I'm not," she says weakly, but she still ain't lookin' at me.

"Come on," I scoff, pushin' myself off the counter and pacin' around the kitchen. "I know you better than that. I've worked by your side for almost five years. I know when somethin's gettin' to you."

"So you snapped because he got to me?" she says, and I'm just dumbfounded at how fast she turned the tables on me. _Damn_, she's good. And I can't tell her the real reason…the reason I just figured out over a few shots of scotch at six this morning.

"God, Lil," I say finally, with an exasperated sigh and an incredulous glance in her direction. "I just hate seein' you get hurt is all."

* * *

Dammit. I knew it. I knew not to get my hopes up. I knew I was just another broken-wing girl for him to save. I knew he was just getting his Alpha Male "Rescue The Princess" fix. And let's face it, he doesn't exactly have any other projects going at the moment. Alex Thomas is the last woman who'd need rescuing.

"I don't need you to rescue me, Scotty," I fling at him. _I just need you to love me._

"No?" he replies, arching his eyebrows at me like he does with suspects.

"No," I say firmly. "I'm _fine_."

"You _ain't _fine, Lil!" he bursts out, as he leaves the kitchen and starts pacing around the living room. "You're havin' panic attacks--"

"Just the one," I protest, following him in. He doesn't need to know about the dozens I've had when he wasn't around.

He gives me a look that says no way in hell does he believe me, and I won't press the point for now. We've got bigger fish to fry.

He picks up right where he left off. "You're havin' panic attacks, you ain't sleepin', and you've been wanderin' around for months like a damn zombie, like somebody just hollowed out all your insides and filled you up with Styrofoam or somethin'," he continues. "What the hell's goin' on with you, Lil? You ain't…you ain't _you_ anymore."

"I got shot! My mother died!" I finally burst out. "I'm allowed to not be okay for a while. You, of all people, should know that. You didn't exactly handle it all that well three years ago."

Oh, shit. I cannot _believe_ I just said that.

Scotty stands there, just staring at me for a minute. He can't believe I just said that, either. His eyes are darkening with pain, and he swallows hard. Oh, _God. _I wanna just turn around and run, but I can't move. I'm frozen to the floor. Completely paralyzed. It feels like that time we fought in the lobby about Christina. When will I ever learn to think before I lash out at him?

"You're right," he says softly. "I didn't...handle it well. But just because you ain't makin' stupid decisions right and left like I did doesn't mean you're handlin' it, well, either. God, Lil…I know how much it hurts to have someone you love die on you, I know how much it hurts to not get a goodbye, or at least one that makes any kinda sense. I don't know what it's like to lose a parent, but I know what it's like to…lose _someone_. You just ain't the same after…you ain't supposed to be. The pain doesn't ever totally go away…but it does get better. And…I could help you with that. I _wanna_ help you with that, Lil, but you won't let me in."

He stops, then suddenly smiles a little bit. After what we've just been talking about, I can't believe he's smiling.

"What?" I ask him suspiciously.

"You just admitted you ain't okay," he says, as he turns to face me and folds his arms across his chest, and I can't help but notice there's a tiny little twinkle of triumph in his dark eyes.

Something about that just makes my blood start to boil. "Okay, Scotty…you wanna know how I am? You wanna know how…not okay…I am?" I demand, and he's knocked back on his heels, I can tell. That cocky triumphant look is out of his eyes, and it's been replaced by a little bit of fear. Time to go for it. Pretend he's a suspect. You gotta give a little to get a little, and this is gonna be hard, it's gonna rip his heart out, I can tell, but I gotta do it. _Rip off the band-aid, Rush. Get it over with._

"Last night? That was the first good night's sleep I've had in _months_. I've had more than just the one panic attack. Everything scares me…loud noises, gunshots on TV, hell, cars backfiring'll do it sometimes. Every time I'm in that observation room, I see myself lying there on the floor. I keep havin' this nightmare, where they're wheeling me into surgery, and they keep asking me who they want me to call, if there's anybody I want them to call, who can we call, Lilly, who can we call? And there's nobody they can call, Scotty. _Nobody_. I've never felt so alone in my life. And you wanna know the truth? Fine. Here it is. Yes, I thought about giving up. But I didn't."

His eyes flash with panic then, and, if I'm not mistaken…no. I'm not mistaken…those are tears in his eyes. It looks like they're on the verge of spilling over. God, I hate myself right now. I know I just brought up all those memories of Elisa, and that's the last thing I wanna do. I sink down on the couch with a sigh.

* * *

I knew it. I knew it all along…but to hear her_ say_ it, to hear those words from her lips; how alone she felt, how she keeps havin' this nightmare 'bout bein' by herself…how she almost gave up…and to know that I'm the reason for it all…that's just a knife to my heart.

I wanna run. I wanna just run…far, far away from here, so I never have to look her in the eyes again, so I never have to know just how bad I screwed up with her, how bad I let her down. It's my fault she got shot. She said "hey," she needed me, and I blew it. I fuckin' blew it. Just like I always do.

Lil's watchin' me, and I know she can see that I'm fightin' back tears. I can't help it. The truth hurts. I gotta do somethin'…gotta distract her from the fact that I'm about to lose it…gotta get it under control again.

So I turn on her. "But you weren't alone," I fling at her, hopin' my voice sounds normal around that giant lump that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my throat. "Don't you get that? You've never been alone."

"I'm always alone, Scotty," she retorts. "My dad…my mom…Chris…Patrick…Joseph…name someone, and they've left me. I'm always alone. I'm that damn lone wolf cop you talked about in Nashville. It's just the way it is, and I think the shooting finally got me to realize it."

If my heart was startin' to break before, it's totally shattered now. How the hell can she not see what's right in front of her face?

_I love you. _The words are on the tip of my tongue…just waitin' for my brain to give me the go-ahead, but it never comes. No point in tellin' her now. Won't make a damn bit of difference.

"You ain't alone, Lil," I say again, softly. I sit down on the couch next to her, and I wanna just wrap her in my arms and press kisses into her hair and whisper, over and over again, that she ain't alone, that I'll always be there for her, but I can't. Not without endin' my life as I know it. So I settle for puttin' my hand on her shoulder, like I did the day her mom died…before everything went all to hell 'cause of my screw-up. She seemed okay with it then, and she's kinda okay with it now. She doesn't flinch, I notice, she doesn't move my hand…I can almost feel her relaxin' a little bit. Her skin is so soft…so warm…

_Focus, Valens._

"I'm here for you," I say. "I always have been."

I see tears well up in her eyes then, too, and I just look at her. I can't let her see how I'm feelin', and I'm hopin' it ain't showin' in my eyes. I ain't sure, though.

* * *

"Where were you when I got shot?" I ask him softly, and he flinches. Those tears he managed to retract come back with a vengeance, and I see that muscle in his cheek start to twitch. I know he's close to the edge, and it's damn hard to watch. My heart is breaking for him. I know how much he doesn't want to talk about this…but we need to talk about it…if we have any hope of getting past it.

"Where was I?" he repeats bitterly. "What the hell kinda stupid question is that?" He takes his hand off my shoulder suddenly, like it's burning him, and I can't help but feel cold where his hand was. So cold…so alone…just like I felt in that damn hospital.

Scotty gets up again, starts pacing, and I wish to God he'd just sit back down. He's making me even more antsy than I already am. His breath is coming in short little pants, and his jaw is clenched, like he's still trying to fight the tears.

"I need to know what happened, Scotty," I say. I'm not giving in. Not on this.

He glares at me, and I can see the sparkle of tears mingling with the hot fire of his anger. "Read the damn report," he flings at me, his tone low and full of warning. _Don't go there_, it says. I ignore it. I have to.

"I'm not interested in IAD's version," I tell him. "It won't tell me what I need to know."

Anger wins the battle with tears, at least momentarily, and he lashes out. "What the hell do you think you need to know that ain't in the report? And what the hell do you wanna talk about this for, anyway? It's over. It's done. You got shot. You got a scar on your shoulder for the resta your life, you got nightmares, you got panic attacks, you're never gonna be the same again. Why you wanna revisit that all of a sudden? Why can't we just leave it alone?" he demands. I can see the terror and pain in his eyes.

"Because that's not what we do, Scotty," I retort. "We don't leave the past alone. We work cold cases, for God's sake."

The irony gets him, and he chuckles in spite of himself. "It's different when it's your own past," he says softly.

"It is," I agree.

"So why you gotta know?" he asks me again. "What's so damn important about relivin' that nightmare?"

"Because maybe if I relive _that_ nightmare…then maybe I won't have to live the one that visits me every night when I'm trying to sleep," I fling back, and at that, I know I've won. He'll tell me what I need to know now, even if it's for no other reason than to give him a sense of rescuing me, of being the hero, of being the guy to save me from my bad dreams and panic attacks.

He sighs, sits down, and leans his elbows on his knees. "I was outside," he starts. "I was outside, and Vera set Kat a text message sayin' Ed took the office hostage. And those idiot sharpshooters…they _missed_."

"I know," I say softly. "And Ed shot Boss."

"And….I dunno what happened after that," Scotty replies, his voice trailing off as he looks away.

"Yes, you do, Scotty," I press, leaning closer to him. "You know exactly what happened, and so do I. I just wanna know why."

"'Cause…I couldn't just stand there and watch Ed shoot up the office…shoot _you_. I had to do somethin'," he answers, his eyes dark and faraway, filled with pain. He's got this tortured expression on his face that I would give anything, _anything _to make go away, but I can't. Not yet.

"So you came inside," I prod.

"I came inside, ran up the stairs, saw that Boss was okay, and then…" his voice falters. He stops for a minute, swallows hard, and angrily brushes away a tear that's managed to escape.

"And then…" I say softly.

"Then…you called." He pauses to take a shaky breath. "And you said 'hey.' And…"

"Keep going, Scotty," I tell him. "What happened after I said 'hey?'"

He looks up at me, and for a second, I think he's gonna bolt. He sure looks like he's getting ready to. He looks like he's fighting with something, wrestling with something…

"I shot into that room, okay?" he says angrily. "I shot Ed, but it wasn't soon enough; it wasn't quick enough. I--" His voice breaks, and the anger gives way to pain. "I couldn't save you, Lil," he finishes in a whisper, and then…he just buries his face in his hands. I can see his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "That what you wanted to hear?" he demands through his tears.

No, not really. I've got no idea what to do. None whatsoever. I was planning on glossing over this part, the actual shooting part, and get to the after part. I wasn't expecting us to get mired down in Scotty's morass of self-loathing. Now that we're here, I'm not surprised, but that doesn't stop me from not having a clue how to help him.

I'm aching to just pull him into my arms and whisper into his ear that it's okay, that it isn't his fault, but I know that he won't hear me. Hell, I'm not even sure he'll let me touch him. I know that his self-blame, not just for me, but for Elisa, and Ana, and his brother, has taken root so far deep in his soul that I'm not sure it'll ever come out. And I hate to leave it in there, but...we've got enough to deal with today.

I settle for rubbing circles on his back, tentatively at first, but he seems okay with it, so I scoot closer to him on the couch, put my right arm around him, and just lay my head down on his shoulder as I softly run my other hand up and down his arm.

He doesn't cry long, less than a minute, and then he looks up at me, grinning almost sheepishly. "Sorry," he says softly, with a little sniffle as he scrubs the tears from his cheeks. Frankly, I'm a little relieved to see the old sparkle back in his eyes, red-rimmed though they are. The old Scotty. The one that's all cockiness and bravado.

I smile at him tenderly and release him. "Now, I wanna hear…how you _did_ save me."

* * *

Goddammit, I cannot _believe _this woman. For a second, I feel kinda sorry for all those suspects we've interviewed over the years, especially the ones who were innocent, but got put through the wringer anyway. No wonder we get away with never havin' much evidence. Lil's just so damn good we don't need it. I can't believe she just got me to crack like that. I just confessed to the worst crime I ever committed, and I'm amazed that she ain't slappin' the cuffs on me. I know I would, if I were interrogatin' me.

Instead, she's just smilin' at me, wantin' to know how I did save her. I know she ain't thinkin' straight.

"I didn't do a damn thing to save you," I say bitterly, wipin' away the last traces of my tears, hopin' they don't decide to come back for an encore.

"You did, Scotty," she insists. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Yes, she is. She's here, and she's...here. In my apartment. _Why the hell is she here, anyway?_

"That ain't got nothin' to do with me," I retort. I'm goin' down into that place, that dark place deep in my soul that causes me to lose all hope and do dumb shit…shit like drinkin' on the job or screwin' Alex Thomas. That place where I can't see anything but how much I screwed up, and I hate that Lil's seein' me like this. This is why I didn't turn to her after Elisa…I didn't want her, of all people, to see me in this dark pit of despair. I try to fight the downward spiral, but it probably ain't gonna do any good.

I'm so deep in my own mess that I forget Lil's even there for a second, so her voice startles me.

"Scotty," she says sharply, like she's seein' my descent into the abyss and tryin' to catch me before I fall.

I turn and look at her, and…y'know, I think it mighta worked.

"What did you do _after_ I got shot?" she asks, her voice soft, but intense. I know that voice. It's that voice she uses in the interview room, that voice that doers are powerless to resist. Her blue eyes are just blazin' at me, with what looks like urgency, a little fear, and somethin' else…somethin' I can't quite identify, but I know I ain't never seen it before.

"Whaddaya mean, _after_ you got shot? None of that matters," I tell her angrily. "It was already done. I already screwed up. Why you gotta know all that? Ain't talkin' about this hard for you at all?" I demand.

And suddenly, I've got the upper hand. Tears are fillin' her eyes, and I should feel bad about it, but for some strange reason, I don't. Turnabout's fair play. Maybe she can cry all over me for a change.

"Of course it is," she admits softly. "I don't want to relive this any more than you do."

"Then…what the hell are we doin' this for, Lil?" I ask her, tryin' to read her expression.

She reaches over and takes my hand then, and I'm so shocked that I can't say anything else. I shoulda had some more questions, shoulda pressed the issue, shoulda gone all bad-cop on her like I do with suspects, but she's rendered me utterly speechless. All I can think about is that Lil's holdin' my hand. She's actually holdin' my hand.

_Don't mean squat, Valens, _my brain tells me. _She just feels sorry for you 'cause you're blubberin' like a damn baby._

"I don't remember…" she says softly.

"Good," I say with finality. "Then let's do somethin' else. You wanna watch a movie or somethin'?" I ask, hopin' maybe that means I can quit havin' confession and maybe see if she'll just stay and let me get my thoughts together enough to press her about why she's here, 'cause I still ain't gotten her to answer that question. Goddammit.

"No, Scotty," she says with a slight smile. "That's not what I meant."

I sigh in defeat. "Worth a shot, right?" I ask with a grin, and then wince as I catch the unintentional pun. "Sorry," I say.

She giggles a little, in spite of herself, but then gets that damn interrogator look in her eyes again, and I know the game's up. We're goin' through with this after all.

"I don't remember," she says again, "what happened after I got shot. But…last night…I thought I started to…remember things." She looks at me, givin' me one of them meaningful looks she gives me when we're gettin' somethin' out of a suspect, one of those looks where have an entire conversation with just one glance, except this time, there ain't no conversation, 'cause I don't got a clue what she's tryin' to say.

"What'd you remember?" I ask softly, noticin' she's still got hold of my hand. I ain't lettin' go. I cover her hand with my other one, and she flinches a little, but doesn't pull away. I rub circles on the back of it with my thumb, almost knocked over by just how soft and delicate it is. I love her hand.

She looks at me again, and there's that little flicker of somethin' in her eyes, and damned if I know what it is. I'm gettin' annoyed, 'cause it seems like she just wants me to…I dunno…_get _somethin', but I ain't got the foggiest idea what that is. _You may be a detective, Valens, but you're still a guy, and therefore biologically incapable of understandin' women, _my brain reminds me. _It's a conspiracy of nature. Ain't nothin' you can do about it._

"I'm pretty sure I'm makin' it all up," she says, with a slight, self-deprecatin' laugh.

"Makin' what up, Lil?" I press. I sense I might be gettin' close to gettin' some answers.

_Guess again, Valens_. She ain't talkin'.

"Just tell me what happened, Scotty," she insists. "I gotta know I'm not nuts."

"You ain't nuts, Lil," I say intensely, hopin' she gets that at least. "You're just…goin' through a rough time."

"Dammit, Scotty," she snaps. "Just tell me what the hell happened after I got shot."

_Yes, ma'am. _Dammit.

"I didn't even see you at first," I say slowly, tryin' to ignore the pain that's wellin' up in my heart. "I was just makin' sure Ed was down." I take a deep breath, steelin' myself for what's to come. I hate rememberin' how she looked, all pale and helpless, bleedin' out on the floor…

"Look at me, Scotty," she orders softly, like she knows that's exactly what I need to do. I gotta look at how she is now, not how she was then. I look up at her and keep goin'. I gotta do this, if this is what she needs from me. If this is why she came, and I'm kinda startin' to think that, for whatever reason, it is.

"And then…you said, 'he got me…' and I looked up and saw you…" Dammit. Those tears are wellin' up in my eyes again. Holy shit, this is painful.

"And then what?" she asks me, almost nervously.

"Then…I caught you, and I tried to stop the bleedin'…told Will to get the paramedics…"

We're treadin' in dangerous territory now, 'cause if I keep goin', she's gonna see the truth in my eyes, and the world as I know it's gonna end before I even figure out what the hell I wanna do about what I just realized when I got home from West Virginia.

"What else?" she asks, and now I'm all confused, 'cause she looks almost happy, like this is exactly what she wants to hear. Why the hell is she wantin' to hear this part? This was just me tryin' to clean up the mess I made.

"I…kinda held you for a while," I say slowly, fightin' the tears. I think it's gonna be a losin' battle. Just like it was back then. "And…all I remember was just prayin' to God not to take you away from me, too." I look at her, and I can't help the tear that sneaks outta my eye.

"Dammit, Lil," I say softly. "You scared the hell outta me. If I'da lost you…" I trail off. I can't talk anymore. I'm done. I just hope she figures that out.

I think she has, 'cause she's lookin' at me all…is that tenderness I see? Lil can do tender? Who knew? And her eyes are shinin' with somethin'…somethin' I ain't never seen in 'em before, and I can't even begin to figure out what it is, 'cause my own eyes are pretty blurry at the moment, and my brain's totally shot. After the night and the day I had…

And suddenly, she's just whisperin', "Oh, Scotty," and she's pullin' me into her arms. I can't even breathe. I don't know what the hell's goin' on, but I ain't gonna complain.

* * *

It's only the second time I've hugged him, but the first one hardly counts. It was just a friendly, "glad you're back at work and not dead" hug, and he barely even squeezed me. I'd just gotten my stitches out, and I think he was afraid of hurting me. But this one…this one's tight, and fierce, like he never, ever wants to let me go. That's completely fine with me.

He buries his face in my shoulder, and I feel his breath hitch a little, but he doesn't break down. Not this time. I think he's shell-shocked. I am, too.

Because it's real. What I remembered last night…him catching me, him being there for me…it was _real. _I wasn't dreaming it up. He was _there_. I wasn't alone…but more than that…much, much more than that…I was with him. With Scotty.

Where I was always meant to be.

My heart is flooding with so many emotions, I can't even sort them all out. But the prevailing one is pure, earth-shattering love. I've never loved anyone like this before. It brings tears to my eyes, and I just hold onto him for dear life.

Finally, he pulls away, his hands still on my shoulders, and looks into my eyes. "Lil?" he asks, confusion creasing his brow.

I smile at him, and he probably thinks I've gone off the deep end. He isn't the only one. You have to have gone off the deep end at least a little bit to fall in love with your partner.

"Now…I can tell you why I came over here last night," I say. I can't stop smiling. He's still just looking at me, all mystified.

"Why's that?" he asks lightly, like he's afraid to shatter the moment.

I take a deep breath. _Here goes. _I've never been more excited, or more scared, about anything in my life.

"I came to tell you…" I start, but I can't finish.

I try again. "I…needed to tell you…that…" I trail off, just shaking my head with a timid smile. Now that the moment of truth is here, I just can't go through with it.

"Tell me what, Lil?" he asks me, and I meet his eyes. They're so warm, and soft, and they're looking at me like they can see my soul. And there's something else there, too…something else I thought for sure I was dreaming up in my semi-delirious state last night, but…no, I wasn't. That's real, too. What I see in his eyes is as real as the sofa we're sitting on.

_He loves me._

And that gives me the last ounce of courage I need.

"I…I love you, Scotty."

* * *

Time just stops. Completely frozen. I can't move, can't breathe, can't blink…can't do anything except just stare at her, thinkin' there's no possible way she just said that, no possible way I heard her right. But as I'm starin', I'm lookin' into her eyes, and I see the truth shinin' there, plain as day. She loves me all right. Lilly Rush…loves _me._

"You came all the way here to tell me that?" I ask, kickin' myself for soundin' so stupid.

"Yeah," she says, and I get a hint of the fear in her voice. Then, I realize, stupid idiot that I am, I haven't said anything back.

I look at her…takin' in her blonde hair, her sparklin' blue eyes, that smile that melts my heart…and I know she can see the truth in my eyes without me even havin' to say anything. But, just in case…

"Oh, Lil," I say softly. "I love you, too. You got no idea how much." Hell, eight hours ago, I had no idea how much.

My heart's soarin' as she makes this cute little sound, kinda like a half-laugh and a half-sob. She's got tears spillin' out of her eyes now, but her smile's as bright as the sun, so it's kinda like when it's rainin', but the sun's shinin' at the same time, or somethin' like that, hell, I dunno, 'cause suddenly it occurs to me that I don't wanna sit here thinkin' up weather analogies, I just wanna kiss the woman.

So I do.

Her lips…oh, God, her lips feel so good. They're so soft. Firm, though. She ain't gonna just let me do all the kissin'…she's gonna wanna get her part in, too. That's okay with me. Nothin's ever been more okay with me in my life.

I should be a gentleman, make our first kiss short, but I don't think I could tear my lips away from hers if my life depended on it. She's feelin' the same way, it seems, 'cause she scoots herself closer to me on the couch, wraps one hand around the back of my neck, and the other's just restin' on my chest, and then all of a sudden, I'm leanin' back, and she's on top of me. I got one arm wrapped around her real tight, and the other hand's tanglin' in her hair…it's like silk, it's so soft. Damn, this woman's amazin'. I gently push on her lips with my tongue, and she welcomes me in, and holy mother of God...I'm practically in orbit.

She pulls away for a second, searches my eyes, looks like she's about to say somethin' else, but I don't give her a chance. I gotta kiss her again.

* * *

Oh, my God. _Oh, my God. _I never knew a kiss could be like this. Kissing Scotty…oh, kissing Scotty is just heaven. I never want it to end. His lips are so warm…firm and insistent…passionate, but not crushing. My senses are just overwhelmed by how wonderful this feels, by the way he's letting out these soft little moans of pleasure, by the fresh, clean scent of his skin and that delicious spicy aftershave. My heart's beating wildly as he wraps his arms around me, and somehow we topple over, and I'm on top of him, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's running his fingers through my hair, fumbling with the clip and flinging it to the floor. I don't hear it land, and I don't care. I _can't _care. I'm so caught up in this kiss…it's consuming me from head to toe, shooting fire throughout my whole body. He's pushing my lips open with his tongue now, and oh…God…that feels even better. It's like our bodies have just now figured out what our souls knew all along.

It feels like I'm home. Like I've been wandering around, lost, for my whole life, looking for something…and now…now I've found it. I'm finally back where I came from. Back where I'm meant to be. I'm _home._

I pull away to catch my breath, and I want to say something, I've got no idea what, but he kisses me again before I can think of it. I don't think it's sunk in yet. I don't think he thinks this is real.

I'm not sure I think it's real, either, but I'll take it. I'll definitely take it.

I pull away once more, smile shyly, and just lay my head down on his chest, trying to catch my breath and stop the room from spinning. I can feel his heartbeat through his T-shirt; it's as frantic as mine is. He's breathing hard, too, and we just lay there like that for the longest time, neither one of us saying anything else.

Everything's already been said.

* * *

I got no idea how long we've been layin' here. She's just got her head pillowed on my chest, and I'm holdin' her tight, still half afraid that if I let her go, she'll freak out and bolt. But she doesn't seem to wanna do that. She's got her arms around me, too. In fact, I think she's asleep. She's either completely asleep or damn close. But I ain't disturbin' her. Not in a million years.

I press kisses against her hair occasionally, and whisper to her that I love her, but she doesn't move a muscle. That's okay by me. I've got an angel in my arms, and I wanna stay here forever.

I'm thinkin' we oughta take this slow. Oh, my body doesn't like that answer, not at all, but…we gotta do this right. 'Cause this is the real thing for me, and I know it's gotta be the real thing with her, too. No way does Lilly Rush say "I love you" unless she means it. She's given me the most precious gift she ever could: her heart. That heart of hers, so wounded and battle-scarred, now rests in my hands…shyly…tentatively…like a flower or somethin'…and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let my hormones crap all over it. No, no messin' around with this. We're gonna take this slow. Do it right.

We both got issues, I know that. She's scared of love, and I'd be lyin' if I said I ain't a little bit, too. My history with love…well, it ain't the greatest, and if I'm bein' honest with myself, I'm terrified that I'll do somethin' to screw this up. So I'm gonna take it slow.

What I'm thinkin' about now, though, is how…_right _this feels. There's absolutely nothin' awkward about it at all. The more I think about it, the more I realize we've always sorta just been together, even when we were datin' other people…like our hearts were just kinda waitin' for our damn stupid brains to figure it out.

I'm also thinkin' that even though we both got a boatload of issues, that we're gonna take the time to work through 'em, together. Kinda like we did today. I'm proud of us; we talked about some real tough shit, stuff we've probably needed to talk about for months, and neither one of us cut and run, although I know we both wanted to. That's a good sign, I think. 'Cause I know relationships well enough to know that you don't make 'em work by runnin' at the first sign of trouble. We've at least got that goin' for us; we've both been engaged before, so, theoretically anyway, we've got at least the basic skills for makin' a relationship last longer than just a few months.

'Cause I know just a few months ain't gonna be enough for me, and I know it ain't gonna be enough for Lil, either. She's so used to people leavin' her, and as I'm lyin' there, thinkin' about this, I whisper a promise into her hair. "I ain't gonna leave you, Lil. Never. I'm in this…'cause I can't imagine my life without you. I look into the future, and all I see is you."

And now, my eyes are fallin' closed, and I'm thinkin' I might join Lil in dreamland. One thought I have before I drift off kinda makes me laugh a little bit, 'cause I'm thinkin' how this day started, with me all pissed off at John Smith, and now…now the darkness of the night has given way to bright sunshine. I've got Lil asleep in my arms, I know what it's like to kiss her, and our partnership has blossomed into more than that…and now I'm thinkin' I maybe oughta write that bastard a thank-you note. _Dear John, _I'll say. _Thanks for makin' me realize what a damn fool I've been. Thanks for makin' me realize how truly and completely I love Lilly Rush. Thanks for doin' or sayin' whatever it is you did to make her tell me she loves me. But if I ever see you again…I'm still kickin' the shit outta you._

I'm also thinkin' that maybe I oughta call Boss at some point and see about maybe gettin' us another couple days off. I think we've earned 'em.

And I'm thinkin', as I fall asleep, that maybe convincin' Lil to sleep next to me from now on won't be as hard as I thought it was gonna be. And that's the sweetest thought of all.


End file.
